


Dream A Little Dream Of Me

by CakecroftAteAPieFacedScone



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Dream Sex, F/M, How Do I Tag, I Don't Even Know, M/M, Masturbation, Sexy Times, Wet Dream, crackish, first fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-28
Updated: 2015-08-31
Packaged: 2018-04-17 15:38:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4672043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CakecroftAteAPieFacedScone/pseuds/CakecroftAteAPieFacedScone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where John has a wet dreamception.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dream A Little Dream Of Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Stars shining above you  
> Night breezes seem to whisper 'I love you'  
> Birds singing in the sycamor trees  
> Dream a little dream of me
> 
> Stars are fading but I linger on dear  
> Still craving your kiss  
> I'm longing to linger til dawn dear  
> Just saying this."  
> \- Doris Day(Dream a Little Dream of Me/excerpt)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there might actually be more chapters.

'Sherlock! Sherlock, n-AH-ot there- ohh stop...'

John whispered furiously, breathless. Sherlock pressed his two long digits deeper into John's tight arse fondling his insides, stretching him, teasing him, letting him come so close to his release every inch of his body burns waiting for that moment, listening to the wonders of his John's voice; falling apart just from his fingers.

'John, how is this going to be a 'Hands On' experiment if I am not hands on?' Sherlock rumbled with his deep baritone voice that spurred John on, smirking to himself. The detective enjoyed every moment of this. Sherlock couldn't help himself; he had a fetish for John. Only John could make him feel this way; make him do the things he did to his blogger. The raven haired detective sped up his fingers, setting a faster pace of in and out.

'Yes- ah! But- but do you have to be so rough-ooh'

No matter what John said, he loved it. Sherlock knew it too, knew what John needed and when.

"John."

/Gah, yes. That deep voice. So erotic; sexy. Makes me so hot, makes me want to-/

"John."

/Oh, yes. Say my name like that again, I love it when you say it that way-/ 'Oh, OH SHERLOCK YES- MMHM HARDER! YES YES YES THERE SHERLOCK-!!'

"JOHN."

Oh. /Oh./ Fucking hell. Not again.

"Mm?" /Play it cool Watson/ "What is it, Sherlock?"

"You're making noises again, and by the position of your body, rate of breathing and heart beat, and the volume of your voice, you were close to your 'climax'. What were you dreaming about, John? Besides the obvious, of course." /So much for that/

"None of your business. Now if you'll excuse me-" /Shit. I just cleaned these./

"No."

"No what, Sherlock?" John gave the other man a hard glare wanting him to /just fucking leave./

"No, you are not excused." Surely the lowering of such a baritone voice was /not/ necessary. John thought it best to kick the hot piece of arse out, even though his aching erection said otherwise, and just take a cold shower (read: wank himself stupid). Sherlock didn't budge an inch.

John was going to have it hard tonight. /Wait-/

"John," The detective drawled, "you're still erect. Shall I help you with that?" John was going to tell the damn sod to go and bugger himself until his words sank in.

"What do you mean help, Sherlock?" A Cheshire grin broke apart the detectives face. "Well, with your small problem of course, John." Sherlock looked down at John's erection "Big, I should say." He leaned down palming John as a moan escaped the smaller man, Sherlock's hand bringing him closer to-

John awoke in a cold sweat. /Bloody fucking hell. Not again./ And with that thought began to wank himself into sexy, hot and sweaty oblivion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, first addition to any fandom. Hope it went down well! I have a second chapter in the works but I'm not sure if I'll add it.  
> Thanks for putting up with any mistakes.  
> Anyway, thanks for reading!!


	2. A Dream Within A Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Is all that we see or seem  
> But a dream within a dream?"  
> \- Edgar Allen Poe(A Dream Within A Dream/excerpt)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhh, so I put it up anyway.  
> Enjoy??

Stepping out of the shower, John didn't bother putting on anything but his robe, tying it loosely around his waist. Walking out of the bathroom drying his hair, he missed the scene before him until he bumped into Sherlock's chest.

He was also very underdressed.

Whatever John was about to say stuck in his throat as he ogled the expanse of the taller man's chest. Choking on his own spit, John stepped back and looked up at Sherlock whom was giving him a blank look.

"Do close your mouth, John. It's unbecoming of you."

Turning on his heel, Sherlock stepped back into the living area which, John now realized, was a complete disaster.

Hopping around a mass of papers and spilt somethings, John stood by Sherlock, giving the detective a hard look. An almost noticeable eye twitch which Sherlock ignored by looking back to the wall sized map covered with sticky notes and pins. John sighed.

"Did you sleep well, John?" Sherlock asked, too casually for John's liking, stretching up to fix something or other on the map turning his back to John, dropping his sheet from one shoulder.

John went to make tea, doing his best to gather his scrambled thoughts, instead of acknowledging the mess that was his chair and his half hard cock. The robe could only hide so much. He could do with some breakfast. Putting the kettle on the stove, John turned to stand tip toe to reach for their mugs, sighing when he couldn't reach them. Again.

Truly, Sherlock wanted him to suffer this morning.

In answer to Sherlock's question, he threw a half hearted 'just fine' over his shoulder. Reaching up again, John almost managed to grab the mugs' handle, when he felt a heavy pressure on his back and would've lost his balance if it wasn't for the large hands on his chest and hip.

Still on his tip toes, John tried to turn and  look at Sherlock directly but couldn't without losing balance and dropping his robe. Realizing there was only a sheet and a robe between them, John flushed with embarrassment and arousal. This was straight out of his favorite fantasy.

One hand on the counter and one hand holding his robe, John asked Sherlock to let him go. Sherlock refused. 

"Sherlock."

"John."

"Let go, please."

"I don't feel like it."

Groaning in frustration John bowed his head and counted to ten. He could feel Sherlock's warm breath on his neck.

"Sherlock, if you don't let go I'll ruin your sheep tongue experiment. It's right there." That didn't work.

Trying to twist out of Sherlock's grip failed. Not wanting to possibly embarrass himself further, John asked the detective what he wanted. He wasn't expecting the answer he received.

"What was I doing to you in your dreams that made you moan my name so loudly in your sleep, John?"

John felt his heart skip, his breathing quicken, and his cock twitch from remembrance. Pushing back only put him flush against Sherlock's chest. Wrapping his arms around John's waist, Sherlock set his chin on the smaller man's head with a huff.

John did his best not to whine. "I don't know what you're talking about. You probably heard wrong. Good morning." 

Trying to walk away again, only found John nose to chest. A steady heart beat beneath his right hand and a firm pectoral beneath his left. Gulping, he looked away from Sherlock and hoped the detective hadn't seen his dialated pupils. John, through no small amount of self control, did his best to think of anything besides asking to be thoroughly fucked.

Right then, right there.

The kettle saved him from doing anything rash.

Once tea was consumed and mugs washed, not a single word between them, John made to escape only to have Sherlock spin him around into his own room, loosing his sheet along the way, and throwing John onto his bed.

"Tell me." Sherlock demanded. Voice low, looming over John. Poor doctor couldn't look away from those eyes, hungry looking as they were.

John couldn't speak if he wanted, so aroused and breathless and /no, no, no he's just toying with you-/. Looking away John did his impersonation of a fish before deciding and looked to Sherlock again. Eyes narrowed and lips set in a firm line.

John Watson was not going to cow to a pair of pretty eyes that made his chest ache.

"Sherlock, really. I won't play this game with you." Sherlock leaned closer.

"Won't you tell me, John? Tell me about how good my lips felt around your cock, how my hands brought you to release. Won't you tell me how good, how brilliant, it felt as your pretty, tight hole took all of my long, hard cock?"

John did his best not to whimper. Fuck's sake, he was in the army, pull yourself together man!

Sherlock leaned closer almost nose to nose with John. "You loved every inch, didn't you, filthy boy?" John shivered, Sherlock's voice a deep rumble in his chest. 

"Won't you tell me, John?" Sherlock's lips were so close, about to kiss him, taste him, snog him breathless-

/"John."/

So close-

/"John."/

And then John, poor bastard, woke up.


	3. Do You Dream Of Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Do you dream of me  
> As I dream of you  
> Do you dream of us  
> As I dream of us, too 
> 
> Do you hold me close  
> As I sleep each night  
> Do you watch me sleep  
> As I hold you tight 
> 
> Do you miss me when you wake  
> As we go through our day  
> Do you wish to dream again  
> As I wish our dreams would stay 
> 
> Do you see me smile  
> As I walk at your side  
> Do you hear my breath  
> As my heart quickens inside 
> 
> Do you kiss my lips  
> As I sleep in your bed  
> Do you kiss my eyes  
> As I dream, you in my head 
> 
> Do you dream of me  
> As I dream of you  
> Do you dream of us  
> As I dream of us, too"  
> \- De Va(Do You Dream Of Me)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooooo, I have no idea where I'm going with this anymore. I swear it was only going to be a one shot.

John jolts up from his slumped position on the stiff chair, rubbing his shoulder. Sherlock stands over him, eyes bright and a smug grin across his face.

"He confess then?" John's groggy voice more of a statement than a question.

"To the robbery, the murders. Even to fraud. Case solved." Here, Sherlock rubs his hands together looking as if he'd start dancing. "Though it wasn't hard getting him to confess. Lestrade asks that we do paperwork in the morning. Dull." 

John only shakes his head, and denies the flutter in his stomach is from the concerned look Sherlock gives him when the pain in his shoulder makes him grimace. He's just hungry.

The cab ride to 221B is silent. When John looks to Sherlock, he thinks the lights do wonders to his profile, his eyes ever the stark contrast. John only wishes he could reach out to Sherlock and just hold him, run his fingers through those soft curls, kiss those cupid lips -no. He can't, he reminds himself. Married to his work, that one is, remember? Not interested, he'd said. Flattered, but not interested. 

John looks away. 

How long has it been since Sherlock returned, John asks himself. Why did you allow him back in your life after he faked his death, leaving you behind? How long have you wanted him, Watson? John doesn't answer his own questions.

The next morning finds them at a spare desk in NSY. John writing up the report, Sherlock sitting there looking pretty. John wouldn't have noticed the detective standing, if Sherlock hadn't scraped the desk to the side. Ready to berate him for ruining the current paper, John had to stop short once he saw who Sherlock was headed towards.

She's a pretty thing, John thinks, all long silky hair, caramel skin and long tan legs. John didn't like the pang of jealousy he felt when he looked at Sherlock's face as the detective stood before her. It's the same look John has on his own face when he looks at Sherlock. John turned back to his work. He's just seeing things, lack of sleep and all. Sherlock hasn't been interested in anyone besides the cases they bring, as far as John has seen. Not his area. Not interested. 

John knows it can't just be the allure of a new puzzle. Not with her. John tells Lestrade he feels ill and takes the paperwork with him. Some resigned part of himself doesn't expect Sherlock to follow, but as he passes the pair John sees her hand on the detectives chest and Sherlock leaning into her touch. John sees her full lips curve upwards in a tempting smile and coquette eyes looking up at Sherlock through her lashes. Sherlock's expression is something he hasn't seen on the detective's face before, let alone for another person. Sly, inviting and completely, utterly enraptured.

Another part of himself wishes to be in her place. Sherlock's complete focus only on him. Wanting only him. John goes home and doesn't come out of his room for the rest of the day and all of the night.

Sherlock doesn't come home at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts????

**Author's Note:**

> Welp, first addition to any fandom. Hope it went down well! I have a second chapter in the works but I'm not sure if I'll add it.  
> Thanks for putting up with any mistakes.  
> Anyway, thanks for reading!!


End file.
